


I'll Follow You Into The Dark

by Jak_the_ATAT



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Supernatural
Genre: Android Sam Winchester, Brain tumor, Dean owns a company, Death, Fallen Angel Azazel (Supernatural), Hospital, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jessica Moore - Freeform, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Mention of Chemotherapy, Suicide, Suicide by falling, Suicide by gun, This is literally just a headcanon I have with Gavin and Elijah rip, android!Castiel, android!azazel, android!lisa, android!sam, detroit: become human au, first person POV, jumping off a building, letter pov, minus the ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 14:55:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20726069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jak_the_ATAT/pseuds/Jak_the_ATAT
Summary: When you lifted me off my platform and placed me on the ground, the first thing I said to you was a monologue of introduction: "Hello, I am an SM719 android. I am a statistical android."Corporate man Dean Winchester has a secret that he'd be damned if he let the media know about. It's a good thing his android baby brother is there to help from behind the scenes.





	I'll Follow You Into The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> This story was created because I had to test putting a picture into Ao3 and I had this dead Detroit WIP laying around. 
> 
> If you didn't read the tags, this is basically a Detroit: Become Human AU with Supernatural characters where Sam is an android (actually more than half of the characters here are androids) and Dean is Elijah Kamski. That means there are deaths because both have deaths. But that doesn't mean you need to know DBH to read this (doesn't quite work the other way unfortunately). This story has easter eggs and references for DBH readers, but an SPN reader should have no problem reading this, I hope. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

When you lifted me off my platform and placed me on the ground, the first thing I said to you was a monologue of introduction: "Hello, I am an SM719 android. I am a statistical android, meaning I am capable of analyzing anything you wish to have data on. I'm useful in workspaces such as labs, store inventory, and can even record important information for your doctor, such as usage of medication, number of scheduled appointments, and how your overall health is. I am capable of being a household android, and a sex partner completely at your own disposal. I run on a battery that keeps me autonomous for 173 years if properly treated, so there is no need to feed or recharge me. Would you like to give me a name?"

"Sam" was the name you gave me. "Input additional names: Samuel, Sammy."

"My name is Sam."

"Yep! Alright, memory is good. Waddya say we see what else you can do, Sammy?"

Samuel, Sam, Sammy it didn't matter. When you said my name, it made me happy. Its significance meant that I was family, that I meant something to you. Though you built me taller and stronger than yourself, I always looked up to you, just like a little brother. Naming me was the first catalyst for that pride, which only continued to escalate over the years.

You went to college when you were 18, three years after my activation day. I tagged along when you asked me to. You only went for a semester before dropping, annoyed at how the system was more about statistics and not the individual student. You became a paramedic, and later a mechanic. And I followed you. I kept you healthy, the least I could do for you as you worked long hours on your feet or in the repair shop. You never gave up on your androids, working obsessively with your LS100 model in your free time until she finally stood on two legs then passed the Turing Test. When you quit your mechanic job to start your own company, I helped you shuffle through the many governmental hoops and paperwork it took to start. I was there when you stood on a pedestal with LS100 "Lisa" at your side, receiving a reward from the Lawrence, Kansas, Governor for your influential company, which you called Job-Assistant Androids for Recreational, Personal, and Domestic Services.

Your fame spread across the world. Knockoff companies tried to keep up with JAARPaDS, but despite their success in some areas, you remained on top. You were a community man. In the limelight, you became the figure of the innovative world, and you shocked thousands when you refused to take a Nobel Prize, saying that the meaning behind JAARPaDS wasn't about money or fame. It was about making lives easier in the future.

But behind all the lights, behind all the glory and happiness, a different story arose. It started before one of your appearances on stage. You were walking towards the stage when, for no clear reason, your knees gave out and you collapsed to the ground. I was the first one at your side, Lisa second. You couldn't get up on your own. I picked you up and helped steady your balance until you could stand alone. You went on stage and gave your presentation with Lisa wrapped around your arm to keep you balanced and on your feet. When you came off, I whisked away your weakened body before the media found you.

We talked about your health. I found out this wasn't your first fall. In fact, there were many cases where you would just pass out at the end of the day, mostly waking up to find out you fell face-first into your bed. I wanted to bring you to a doctor but for the first time, you didn't want to use the public services like you had always insisted you would do to keep yourself humble. We hired a private doctor to avoid swarming reporters and passionate fans/haters.

Glioblastoma. That's what you had. A malignant brain tumour that could kill you within a few months. I wanted you to take it easy and to have surgery to try and remove it, but you were adamant to keep it under wraps, even though I found a place where you could have private surgery. Your biggest fear was losing your job. Since your diagnosis, you had handed the JAARPaDS administration to your closest partner. A mistake that neither of us saw. Realizing how much power he had, Michael Novak cracked down on his workers, forcing them into long hours until they quit or he fired them for lagging. As worker numbers dropped, androids replaced them and worked at Novak's preferred pace. 

You didn't want to be taken out of work to recover from surgery. "I'll be okay," you assured. "It's just a brain tumour. I'm sure there are treatments that don't require time off to recover." You pretend you're okay. You consistently pushed yourself to your energy limit, acting like nothing changed. But I know better. I'm a statistical android, remember? My programming is to analyze your condition and compare it to the day before. And your health is declining faster than it should be. 

You don't say anything about your condition until Novak fired you. I wasn't there when it all went down, but the next thing I know is that you've been kicked from the company. You're enraged. Enraged that they would do this to you, especially since you are the founder of JAARPaDS and the creator of the first working androids. You explained that you tried and reason with Novak that keeping you would help reach a wider audience, that you could give hope to those with chronic illnesses that they still have a chance to do something big. But Novak won't have it. I watch you destroy the room that night. I haven't seen you this destructive since our parents died. And when you finally stop, I'm there at your side, holding you tight, as if my hug alone would keep you from breaking apart. My shoulder catches your tears.

We fall into your new life of retirement, close enough to the city that I can run down and grab whatever you need, but far enough away that the press and stalkers can't find you. You manage to live a lively life in between your check-ups and consistent dosage of pills, but it's a lonely life. I want you to reconnect with people once again. My cold, hard body won't give you the human contact you need. I begged you to go out and find someone to spend the rest of your days with, but you refuse. You don't want to see people again. "Why would I?" you ask. "I have everything right here."

I tell you that's not true. "You can't live like this forever!" I say.

"And why not?" you argue back. It draws me to tears--if I had any, but I lack the tear ducts the newer androids have. I try and tell you I don't want you to suffer alone, but my program is jammed. I can't talk to you. I can't say anything but emulate dry crying. I can't move. I only stand there and let my head fall. And when I finally can control myself again, when I finally recalibrate my systems, your arms are wrapped around me as you chant a quiet mantra for me. "Don't cry, Sammy. Don't worry about me." 

But you don't understand. I worry a lot about you. You told me that as a child, you were kept secluded from people because you were raised by parents who wanted better grades than better social skills. I was alive when you were still beaten, and I too was beaten multiple times in an attempt to save you, one which resulted in two months of shutdown and two months of you repairing me.

"You gave me life. Why can't I return the favour?" I ask, my program still glitching. I don't understand what this all means. What all of this irrational instruction in my head are.

"You already have," you say. "By being here. If by anything, I'm in debt to you. You've worked hard to keep me alive, keep me happy, make sure I'm healthy." I let myself fall into your arms, shifting so I was leaning against you, my pressure sensors sending waves of pleasure through my electric wires to my mind.

A month later, you're slowing down dramatically. You're forgetting things. Lisa and I are scrambling to keep up with your needs, but we only have so many skills. It's when you have a ferocious seizure and nearly die that I put in a request to JAARPaDS for a caretaker android, one that specializes in medical conditions. We get a DT800, which comes with a pre-assigned name: Castiel. But in that month, some good comes out of it. You become an avid donator with the excess money you have and use your money for various causes around the country. You also encourage me to find a 'real' job, and though I'm hesitant, your bitch face gets to me and I land a job with the Lawrence police force. I don't get along too well with my colleagues but it's tolerable enough that I enjoy my job quite a bit. I even have a fascinating partner named Fergus MacLeod though everyone calls him "Crowley" after his successful case against Thelema extremists. And I think Crowley likes me too, even if he will never say it. 

You surprise me the night of my first day on the job. We kiss under the moonlight that month. It was accidental, or so I wish I could say. I was home when Lisa and Castiel returned you from the hospital from your first surgery of many to come. Part of the Glioblastoma tumour was removed, enough that you were told you would have 12 months to live. 12 more months. You ran to me and threw your arms around me. Our lips met and though I can't feel yours, only how much pressure is against my lips, my program is overrun by an unknown virus, but not in a bad way. I let you sink against me, warmth sending signals to my program as we're wrapped in passion and love for one another.

With that kiss, our relationship changed. No longer did we feel constrained. I become the replacement human that fills your loneliness in your life. And you became my line of hope that I could be my own person one day, instead of just some machine that obeys orders. I wasn't even aware of how badly I needed you, not as just a brother, but as a lover too.

A month into my work, you surprise me with a congratulations gift: a ring. You ask me to become your lifelong partner, no matter how long your life is. "I know you're gonna outlive me unless someone breaks you, but I'd like to take advantage of the last months of my life," You say. Your method of flirting isn't too smooth, but I accept the gift and for the first time in a long time, I withdraw the synthetic skin that gives me a humanistic look to reveal my white plastic shell underneath on my hand. I don't need to do it, but something about showing my complete guard down as you slip the ring on gives the moment more significance.

Our lives get easier with the new outside connection from my job. I have stories to tell. You have stories to listen to. We laugh at the good moments and rant about the bad and the shitty. Sometimes you comfort me with a kiss after a hard day. Sometimes we plot how else I can screw with Crowley tomorrow. But we are together, synchronized in thought. And I can't believe that after all that time, you actually want to be with me. You want to be at my side, no matter how ethically wrong it may seem since I'm supposed to be your brother, though your reasoning was that we don't share the same blood, let alone the same body components.

Five months into my job and something isn't right. Castiel picks up on it first and alerts me. I check in on you but you claim you're doing just fine, though my scans beg to differ. The tumour is rather large between two days ago when you last had chemotherapy and today. I know you're having more seizures and words and memories are slipping from you. You sometimes faint, causing Lisa and/or Castiel to tag around with you almost 24/7. I'm hesitant to leave you that day. But when I bring up my concerns, you convince me you'll be okay, saying that you'll be ready to fool around in the evening. "We can go swimming," you say, as we've found swimming is slowly adding a few seconds to your life back. "I'll have Castiel and Lisa make cocktails and snacks for us and we can drink to our heart's content when you get back. Sound good?"

"You shouldn't be drinking with this health."

"Shut off your analytics for once and have fun."

"I'm being rational, not analytical." You only laugh and we kiss before I leave.

Crowley is stressed out. We have a hostile android holding a hostage. I'm the negotiator while Crowley and the SWAT team gather around to try and take down the android if things go wrong. Like they would be any help. The AL500 "Azazel" is dangling near the edge of a high-rise with a little girl named Jess.

Castiel contacts me at the worst time. I'm so close to tipping Azazel back to the good side. Azazel's starting to give up his reasoning that he's serving a coalition called Heaven because "There are too many cruel humans on this Earth to keep them all living." He's growing tired and giving up and is so close to releasing Jess.

And then Castiel writes to me: 

_Dean has died._

I don't know what happened next. My program shut down and I'm not aware of what happened. All I know is that once my glitch is over, Azazel has chosen to take himself and Jess to Heaven by pitching himself off the building with Jess under his arm. I leap to save them but I fall short and they're gone. I return to the precinct frustrated and disappointed.

I'm fired after that and requested to be sent back to JAARPaDS to be deactivated and examined by Novak himself. Crowley and I say our final goodbyes, and I discover he's only bummed that he won't have someone to bs through his paperwork quickly. There's no emotional attachment involved. 

I run home. It's about 30 minutes from the precinct. It takes me just over an hour before I get back to the house. Castiel is expecting me when I enter. He has you in his arms and I freeze. What he said is true. Your lifelike body sits in his arms, calm, stilled. I take you from Castiel's arms and he backs away.

You are dead. Dead in my arms. And I wasn't here to say goodbye. My brother, my partner, my lover, gone. I know you're not suffering anymore, and I should be happy. But what am I going to do? Why would you leave me here without instructions? Free will doesn't come easy to me, and you know that.

Castiel isn't sure what to do either. He looks around the room awkwardly. He goes to return to his room when I stop him. "Go to Jericho," I say, and he studied me curiously. "I've heard from some of my interrogations it's the place to go for lost androids."

"Will you come?" He asks.

"Maybe. I just... Where's Lisa? Take her."

"Lisa thinks she failed. She drowned herself in the Kansas river so she couldn't be deactivated by JAARPaDS."

"Go. I'll be right behind. I want a moment with Dean."

He nods and leaves the house. And the silence envelopes me once again.

I let myself carry you to the living room, talking to you about my day as I usually did. I laugh at the good, scowl at the bad, pretending you were there reacting with me. And when I finally end my story, my world only became darker. I'm alone. Alone in this world. Without you, without my job, without Castiel. 

I open a nearby drawer and pull out a revolver, the very same revolver that determined I was more than just a machine. You wanted to test if I had empathy. You had me hold the revolver, taking it off safety. And you raised my arm so the gun was at your head. "Will you shoot me?"

"No," I had responded. "That would break Asimov's first and second law of robotics."

"Then would you shoot her?" And you turned the revolver and my hand around and pointed at the first LS100 prototype you had been working on. I had despised her because she was taking up your attention and causing you to deprive your health. "Destroy her and I will take a rest until my health is back up. I'm stuck on her anyway. Haven't been able to figure out why she won't work, and the frustration is tying knots in my brain."

I can only hesitate for a minute. But then I don't shoot. I can't shoot Lisa. Not when, even in her low power mode, is she looking at me with curiosity about her world, no fear in her eyes as the gun bears down her forehead. She hasn't had a chance to explore her world. I can't shoot her.

You hug me. "I knew it was in you, Sam," You had said. "I knew you were alive, even if it seems like you're nothing more than a program on legs."

The revolver hasn't changed since that day. It has the same scratches it did as before. It's no longer as polished as it used to be but that's understandable. You disliked violence. Of course you wouldn't keep it in prime condition.

I snap it open to see it's still loaded. So many memories associated with that one dangerous weapon. It's an old revolver, but it's the one you learned to shoot with, it's the same one you tested my empathy, it's the same one you used to test my shooting calibration abilities.

I raise the revolver to my head. "This world isn't worth living in without you, Dean," I whisper as I hold your body in my arms. 

And I pull the trigger.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think of the story! Please leave a comment and/or drop a kudos!


End file.
